


Irresistibly Unattainable

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: The Goodies (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5601832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill comes up with a novel way of attracting the girls he's been having trouble getting. Graeme and Tim try their own spin on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Novel Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the language and attitudes towards women & sexual preference do not represent this author's personal convictions, however, they are in this story in keeping with the show.

Graeme awoke to raised voices coming through from the ‘office’. Tim was obviously quite worked up and Bill was ultimately antagonising him in a poor attempt at dealing with the situation.

“You’ve been stealing my garters!” Tim’s voice could be heard clearly through the closed door.

“Don’t exaggerate, it’s not like you were wearing them” Bill countered.

“What are you talking about? I wear them every day. If you want to wear them so badly why don’t you just go out and buy a pair of your own!”

“I can’t be seen in town buying garters, people might talk!”

“Well I don’t see it being any of their business, nor is it any of mine, when you’re not deliberately stealing my clothes and stretching them out.”

“Come off it Timbo, the elastic returns them to normal afterwards anyway.”

“Well it won’t do that forever will it, and don’t call me Timbo when we’re arguing – I don’t like it!”

“Sorry, your majesty” Bill said with a voice indicating the comment had been accompanied by a wink.

Graeme felt now was the time to intrude and zipping up his suit, he walked out of the bedroom and clapped a friendly hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“So what have you two ladies been bickering about this morning, then?” he asked.

“Well,” Tim began, “Billykins here has been stealing my clothes and wearing them around town.”

“Bill, is this true” he asked, resigning himself to playing mediator to this particular fiasco.

“Graybags, it’s like this - ” He began. “We none of us have been having much luck with the birds lately, have we?”

Graeme looked down at the ground and made a non-committal grunt.

“Well, chicks find the unattainable irresistible, right? So I was thinking, if I stopped myself chasing them, they’d come running, only, it didn’t quite work out.”

“They left you alone, didn’t they” Tim jeered. “They could tell you were just a scruffy dirty little man who dresses poorly.”

“Well, yes – and then I was watching the Top of the Pops, and the popstars that the girls were going absolutely beserk for were the poofy ones.”

“Yes…” Graeme conceded. “That does seem to be the fashion nowadays.”

“So I thought if I combined my rugged manliness, with some of Tim’s effeminate getup, I might be luckier on the pull.”

Tim scoffed “That is the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard!”

“Well it would be ridiculous for you because you don’t have my animal rugged attraction, my dear old Timbo.”

Tim looked at the garter in his hand “But if they’re under your clothes, how will they know you’re a bit - ” Tim held his hand out palm down and rotated his wrist back and forth a couple of times, making the universal sign for queer and accompanying it with a slightly uncomfortable, but knowing, look.

“Well, haha, this is where the plan gets genius, I’m using the garters to get past the last line of defence – just when they think they’ve pinned me as another sex-mad young man in his early twenties – “

“Early twenties!?” Graeme and Tim interjected incredulously. Bill carried on.

“ - in his early thirties, I’ll show a bit of leg, little dash of stocking and they’ll have to stick at it to see if they can turn me. The classy birds I’m going after can’t resist a challenge.” Bill waggled his eyebrows at Tim and Graeme.

Tim looked over at Graeme and really did not like the glint of manic inspiration he could see looking back at him. 

“Graeme – “ he began hesitantly.

“Yes, Tim?” he replied.

“You look like you’ve just had, you know, one of your ideas” Tim finished.

“Well, yes, there might be something that Bill has stumbled upon in his usual blundering manner.”

“Hey! I’m right here, you know.” Bill stood up for himself, feeling rather hurt, he didn’t think his plan was too much of a hatchet job – besides the petty theft of Tim’s underwear, there was not much that hadn’t been meticulously planned.

Graeme continued, “Yes, Bill. It does seem the kind of woman you’re after will appreciate a little sexual challenge. However, I think we can do a little better than women’s undergarments.”

Tim looked distinctly uncomfortable.


	2. A Costume Change

“Oh, well this is just completely ridiculous, Graeme.” Tim walked out of their dressing room in Cuban heels and tight white pants that did nothing to keep his privates from being on almost indecent display. Combined with the tight black mesh top, he looked and felt nothing like himself.

Graeme looked up from where he’d been reading the newspaper classifieds for any chance of legitimate work. He coughed and could feel himself blushing to the tops of his ears. “Wow, Tim. I mean –“ He let out a nervous laugh.

“I knew it!” Tim shouted, feeling embarrassed, “You just wanted to make fun of me. There goes old Timbo, he’s so _peculiar_. I’ll bet he’ll jump at the chance to put on some poofy clothes and camp it up at Sombrero’s. Well I’m not playing this time, Graybags, no chance.”

Graeme was conflicted. On the one hand, Tim mistaking his nervous laugh as mockery had him off the hook for his entirely inappropriate physical reaction to seeing his roommate dressed up in quite this manner. On the other hand, he didn’t really like seeing Tim upset, and had never meant to hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry, Timbo – you actually do look rather smashing.” Graeme said, careful to fold his newspaper delicately over his lap.

“Do you really think so?” The beginnings of a smile crept onto Tim’s face as he walked back to the dressing room to take a look in their full-length mirror. “I suppose it is a bit of a change, and the mesh really does feel lovely. Have a feel, Graeme.” Tim looked over expectantly at Graeme. Graeme always liked to be the first to feel the effects of his creations, so it stood to reason he’d want to be as tactile and hands-on with Tim’s costume as he was in all projects. However, he remained in his chair and cleared his throat.

“No thanks, Tim. I’m okay over here – but yes, I do think it looks good.”

“Yes.” Tim nodded at himself in the mirror, turning side on to see the lift that the heels had given his buttocks. “And it does wonders for my legs, look Graeme!”

Graeme gave his best attempt at a smile, but it came off more like a grimace. Tim noticed and walked over to him. “You know, Graeme, you don’t need to feel uncomfortable, there’s nothing _peculiar_ about aesthetically admiring a friend’s clothes. Women do it all the time, and no one makes judgements about that!”

Graeme privately agreed, however, there was everything peculiar going through his own mind looking at Tim, he was desperate for a distraction. So desperate, he was about to ask Bill’s whereabouts when there was a crash as the door to their rooms opened.


	3. Bill's Achievement

Bill rode into the middle of their office on a Harley Davidson, with a very attractive biker girl on the back.

Tim squeaked and ran straight into the closet, slamming the door behind him. Graeme stood up, put his hands on his hips, looked down at his crotch and promptly sat straight back down again.

Before he could begin to berate Bill for his dramatic entrance, Bill dismounted the bike, lifted the young woman off the back of it and turned to face Graeme.

Evidently Bill had had a change of heart, he was wearing a black biker’s helmet, a black fringed leather jacket which looked like it had been liberated from a Hell’s Angel and a pair of distressed, grease-stained tight blue denim jeans. His companion was dressed pretty much the same. She was rather pretty, but with a knowing look at Graeme and a nod towards his crotch made him feel very uncomfortable. Clearly she was not quite as dim as dear Bill.

“Well my genius plan doesn’t need any changing Graybags, I’ve got me a bird and I’m claiming the bedroom, you and Tim please don’t disturb us for, oh, how long would you say, darling?”

“Oh – a couple of hours, I guess” she replied.

“Better be on the safe side, see you in a fortnight, Graeme.” He said with a wink, slamming the bedroom door behind him and leaving the motorcycle behind.

Graeme turned as he heard the closet door open and Tim walked out, still in that ridiculously attractive outfit. 

“Well I never!” Tim said, shocked. “In the middle of the day, on a Tuesday! Who does he think he is? And I don’t know what that nice girl is doing with the likes of him…” 

Tim’s rant was interrupted by some giggles from through the door and Tim moved over to the television to turn on the display in an attempt to drown the noises out.

“Ah yes, I meant to say before, Tim. The television might be a bit – not working – at the moment.” Graeme said in a slightly guilty voice.

“Not working, what do you mean not working?” Tim said with increasing volume. 

Graeme could see that he was about to start panicking. “Now there’s no need to panic, I can have it fixed in a couple of hours –“

“Couple of hours! We don’t have a couple of hours, that’s the amount of time we NEED the TV for, oh Graeme, why do you always have to fiddle.”

Graeme removed his hand from the tassels on the handlebars of the bike that he’d been inspecting. “Oh, sorry.”

Tim moved over to the bike where Graeme was standing. Graeme deliberately did not let his eyes follow Tim’s delicate hands as they stroked the handlebars and ran over the luxurious leather seat.

“You know, Graeme?” Tim asked.

“What, Tim?” Graeme looked up from the bike and blue met blue as they locked eyes.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.” Tim continued.

“And what’s that?” prompted Graeme. All was quiet from the bedroom through the door.

“Take a ride on a motorcycle.” Tim looked coyly up at Graeme through his lashes. “Do you know how to ride one?”

Graeme was rather flustered and responded hurriedly, “Well I know the principle, this is your basic XLCH 1000cc Sportster. Four-stroke, V2 engine, 57 Horsepower, four-speed gearbox – “ he trailed off at the look in Tim’s eye.

“Shall we take it for a ride?” Tim asked, holding out Bill’s helmet for Graeme and fastening the woman’s helmet on his own head.


	4. The Plan Conceived

They raced down the streets of Cricklewood on the motorbike. Graeme’s hands gripping the handlebars tightly, desperately hoping they wouldn’t fall off, and Tim gripping Graeme around the waist, thankful for once not to be in charge of the steering. 

With the wind roaring past them and the bike bouncing over every pothole and bump in the road, Tim could feel his hands slipping from Graeme’s waist. He adjusted himself forward in the seat to get a better grip and instantly regretted it. The pants Graeme had him in were so ridiculously tight that they pulled in all the wrong places. Well, they would have probably been pulling in all the right places had he been leaning up against a bar or throwing shapes on the dance floor. But straddling a motorcycle pressed from shoulder to hip against his best friend was not the ideal time or place to be wearing them. 

He tried not to think about it, linking his hands together around Graeme’s middle and looking past his shoulder down the street. Thankfully there wasn’t much traffic about and they had just reached the little line of pubs and cafés off the main road.

Graeme ducked down a side-alley to park the bike. Tim dismounted and once he’d removed his helmet asked, “So what’s the actual plan then?”

“What plan,” responded Graeme, confused.

“To pick up the girls,” Tim explained, nudging Graeme as two young women walked past the alley, throwing a curious look in their direction.

“Oh THAT plan. Well yes, you’re still wearing the clothes. I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue as we started. That is if you’re still happy with the look.”

Tim found the nearest reflective surface which happened to be the highly polished, highly distortive paintwork of the bike. While Tim was trying to contort his body so he could see all of his reflection, Graeme took out a notebook and began scribbling furiously, alternately scratching his head and chewing his pen.

When Tim had finished preening, he turned to face him. 

“Graeme, I still look okay?”

“Hmm, yes – yes” Graeme looked up. “You look fine. Well – you know, more than fine – you look great. Well a reasonable amount of great. You could look better I suppose, but yes, you look fine.”

Tim eyed him warily. “What are you writing in your notebook?”

“Ah yes, this is the second part of my genius plan. Pick up lines.”

“Oh no Graeme, pick-up lines are awful. They’re out-dated and just so incredibly naff. I couldn’t.”

“Oh, they’re not that bad. Look, come here.” Graeme beckoned Tim over.

“Right, you be the girl, and I’ll be you – okay?”

“Okay, Graeme,” Tim said slowly, not entirely sure where this was going.

“I say, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Graeme asked, ducking his head and looking up through batting eyelashes.

“Utterly sickening.”

“Okay, what about this one, “You must be Jamaican.”

“Graeme, I’m clearly not Jamaican,” Tim said, folding his arms.

“Oh just go with it, please.” Graeme implored.

“Oh fine, why must I be Jamaican, oh ruggedly handsome bespectacled devil?”

“Because Jamaican me crazy,” Graeme beamed at Tim.

“That is so bad, Graeme. You’ve got to know that.”

“I do know, but that’s half the fun! It’s an icebreaker, it will get them talking.”

“It’ll get them walking,” Tim muttered under his breath.

“Okay fine, I’ve got a few of them here if your usual stellar tactics fall through. Shall we?”

Graeme extended his arm and walked Tim to the main road. There they split up, Graeme to observe from a distance and Tim to try using his natural charm and wit to attract a partner.


	5. The Plan Enacted

Tim walked self-consciously over to the bar and ordered a pint. He hadn’t realised quite how obviously he was dressed in the middle of the afternoon. It was one thing to walk about flanked by Bill and Graeme, but now he felt he was really missing his trademark suit.

The barmaid handed him his drink and as he laid a fiver on the bar to pay she ignored it and said “On the house, luv” with a wink.

Well, he supposed, possibly some good could come of this. He caught her eye again and cleared his throat. 

“So do you… come here often?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Internally screeching ‘I’m a teapot’, he tried to save some face.

“What I mean to say is, when you’re not at work, do you come here often.” He looked up nervously.

She smiled kindly, “Not usually,” She leaned forward over the bar giving him a full view of her ample cleavage to whisper conspiratorially, “the bar over the road has happy hour until seven.” 

Tim, growing a little in confidence, smiled across at her, “Well maybe we could go over there a little later. When do you get off?”

Her mouth twisted into a knowing smirk and he went bright red in the face, “Off work, I mean - When do you get off work.” He said quickly.

She grinned at him, “I know exactly what you meant, darling. But unfortunately, I’m here ‘til close tonight.”

Tim looked downhearted at this and she passed him a note with her number on it. She turned away to serve another customer and he picked up the number and slipped it into his back pocket, finally taking a sip of the pint he felt he greatly deserved.

He surveyed the other patrons and settled in to enjoy his drink. 

It wasn’t long before he was joined by a couple of young women. Well, ‘young women’ was stretching it, he was fairly certain one or both of them were still in school. Still, in the interests of getting Graeme some good data, he entertained and encouraged their attentions. 

They were giggling over him, asking if he was in television, if he was an actor, a musician, a singer, a model. Well, who was he to crush their dreams. He said he’d dabbled in the movies and they became more tactile with him. Their giggles turned to tipsy laughter, and their accidental touches became more intentional. As the touches turned to groping, he was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable and out of his depth – it was the middle of the afternoon after all, and the barmaid was sending him some funny looks. 

He was almost relieved when a tall burly man somewhat resembling Rock Hudson sauntered over to the bar and the girls skipped away to another table.

He signalled the barmaid for another pint and tried to look over to where Graeme had secreted himself and found his view blocked by the man who was now standing very close to him.

“Hi there,” the man said in an American accent and with a smile that could blind a man at 30 paces. 

“H-hi,” Tim stuttered.

“I’m Chase,” he said holding out his right hand.

Tim took the hand and firmly shook it, “Tim.”

The man grinned, “You’re from around here?” he asked.

“Yes,“ Tim said in a voice an octave higher than his usual, “I mean, ‘Yes’” he clarified in his usual register. “You’re not?” he asked.

“No, just on shore leave for a couple of days,” he said with a wink.

Tim found himself completely at ease with the handsome stranger and engaged him in conversation easily. He only realised they must have been talking for a couple of hours when he looked outside and could tell the sun had long since set.

Chase yawned obviously and got up from his stool. “Well, it’s getting late, Timmy. You want to walk me home for a nightcap?” 

All of a sudden the reality of the situation sank in. He was about to be picked up by a US Marine on shore leave and go home with him. While he had nothing against poofs and found himself attracted to men more often than not, he wasn’t quite ready for – that – just yet.

As all this rushed through his mind and he tried to find the words to say without offending the man, he saw Graeme rushing through the pub door looking both flustered and exhausted.


	6. An Unnecessary Rescue

Graeme had fallen asleep on the job. One minute Tim was being decidedly boring and not making any moves at all on the teenyboppers that were hanging off him and the next thing Graeme knew, he had awoken to see Tim about to pick up a tall, incredibly strong looking man in uniform.

How could he have gotten this so wrong? Simple science of demographics! Who go for poofy looking pretty blonds? - Teenage girls of course, and other friends of Dorothy. His original hypothesis in tatters, all he could do was rush in and try to save Tim before this all got out of hand. Poor Timbolina probably had no idea what was going on, he had to intervene!

He rushed into the pub to see the large man standing up to leave, oh thank goodness he had reached them in time, only, Tim didn’t seem to look uncomfortable – he had an inviting smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. That same twinkle he got every time he looked at the portrait of Thatcher behind his desk. The man definitely had problems.

Still, he didn’t seem too perturbed by Graeme’s intrusion. In fact, he seemed rather pleased at it as he turned his twinkling eyes in Graeme’s direction.

“Ah, Graybags dear, allow me to introduce Chase, he’s in the Marines.” Tim said gesturing to the incredibly attractive man.

“Um, hello,” Graeme said awkwardly, holding out a hand for the other man to shake.

“Hi,” the Marine said pleasantly, taking Graeme’s offered hand in the strongest grip he’d ever felt.

“I suppose from the look on Timmy’s face, you’re his partner?” the man said with a sheepish grin. “You’ve got yourself a cracker there, don’t let him go. If he was mine, I wouldn’t let him out of my sight!”

“I – I don’t intend to,” Graeme said confused. This encounter wasn’t playing out in any of the ways he’d anticipated.

The American laid a few bills on the bar for the barmaid and clapping them both on the shoulder headed out into the night. 

Graeme looked over at Tim who was looking at the door Chase had exited from with a considering and slightly wistful expression. He cleared his throat, which got no reaction from Tim. He waved his hand over his face and Tim blinked a couple of times then turned to look at him.

“Sorry, I was miles away.” Tim still looked pretty dazed.

“You look like you still are,” Graeme replied.

“Maybe I am.” 

“Right,” Graeme said, “we’d best get you home then.”

“Did you get all your data,” Tim asked, starting to come back to himself.

“My what – oh yes, that, well. Yes, I got plenty.” Graeme replied, still unsure of how to take this new information from Tim. On the one hand, he was still finding it hard to keep his eyes off Tim, on the other – Tim clearly still had his mind on the man who had just left and who could blame him? Next to Chase, what was he to look at? A skinny, bespectacled, prematurely balding scot! 

“Good, good,” Tim said absently, swaying on the spot and somehow managing to lean into Graeme while virtually ignoring him.

Graeme closed his eyes at the contact and instinctively put his arm around Tim’s waist, like he’d done so many times before. He put some money down on the bar on Tim’s behalf and walked him to the door.


	7. A Fortunate Fall

The night air hit them as they left the pub. Tim relaxed against Graeme’s hold and they made their way down the footpath to the alley where Bill’s motorcycle was parked.

Tim seemed perfectly fine, Graeme, however, was not. His mind had been whirring ever since they left the pub, ever since he first saw the tall striking figure talking to his Tim through the pub window. Having all this new information to process, usually he would want nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts. Although now, feeling the warm body next to him and the steadiness of Tim’s footsteps and breathing, being alone was the last thing on his mind.

He was so focussed on the man walking next to him that his foot caught in a pothole in the footpath and he lurched forward. Tim grabbed at his jacket and hauled him back, saving his face from an unfortunate meeting with the concrete.

As he was catapulted back into Tim’s arms, he found himself face-to-very-close-face with his best friend. Tim’s hair looked golden in the lamplight and his eyes were sparkling. Were they always so blue? Graeme unconsciously licked his lips and found himself swaying ever-so-slightly forward. He saw Tim’s eyes dart down to his lips and then back to meet his own eyes. There was a hint of terror there that he hadn’t expected to see.

They remained in the embrace for a moment. And then a moment longer.

This was going on for too long. The number of seconds left before they could go on pretending neither of them wanted to close the very short distance was dwindling.

5 – 4 – 3 - 2 …

A flood of noise came from behind Tim as the pub doors were opened down the road, letting out some boisterous patrons.

Graeme and Tim were sporting matching looks of lust and fear in their eyes as they quickly ran the down the footpath to the alley and back to Bill’s motorcycle.


	8. At the Bike

When they got to the motorcycle, both were bright-eyed and panting. Graeme’s face broke out into a grin that was mirrored on Tim’s face.

Tim clapped a friendly hand on Graeme’s shoulder as he was leaning over the bike and Graeme stood up, returning the gesture. In standing up, he’d again managed to close the distance between them so they were almost touching shoulder to hip.

Tim made an unintelligible sound and cleared his throat.

“Home,” was eventually all his vocal chords seemed able to muster.

Graeme looked ready to agree, before his face fell and he said disappointedly, “Bill”.

The unspoken recognition of what they both wanted seemed to have relaxed them slightly, although the tension between them was electric.

A corner of Graeme’s mouth quirked up into a smirk. He moved the hand from Tim’s shoulder up to the back of his neck and stroked it gently, catching some of the soft hair and curling it around his finger. Tim shuddered and swayed forwards, leaning his hips against Graeme’s. 

Graeme let out an involuntary groan as he felt Tim’s hardness against his own. Of course he knew intellectually that would be the physiological response, but he’d not had opportunity to experience it quite like this until now.

Graeme took the opportunity to move his head forward to speak softly into Tim’s ear.

“This afternoon on the bike, you remember?” 

He took the slight nodding of Tim’s head as acknowledgement.

“I could feel every inch of you pressed up against me, Tim.”

Graeme moved his head back to see Tim’s face, now illuminated solely by the moonlight.

Tim’s mouth was dry and he was having difficulty smiling. He tried to respond as confidently and articulately as humanly possible. “D-Did you really?”

“Yes,” Graeme responded, leaning forward and licking a stripe up Tim’s neck, thrilling at the shiver it sent through the younger man. 

“Oh,” Tim said, swallowing reflexively.

Graeme gently bit the earlobe that his nose had bumped against. 

“It made it very difficult to steer.”

Tim was practically vibrating with arousal at this point, holding onto Graeme’s shoulders with a vice-like grip just to keep standing upright. “I - I imagine it would have.”

“How did you find hanging on at the back,” Graeme asked, clearly wanting some further input from Tim.

“It…was hard,” Tim tried to think of thoughts and words, but all that was running through his head was Graeme, and the sensations he was eliciting.

“Hard?” Graeme inquired.

“Yes, v-very.” Tim felt Graeme smile against his neck, nuzzling and placing soft delicate kisses on it in turn. 

Wishing to prolong the exquisite torture he was inflicting on Tim, but not wanting to get caught by a passer-by, Graeme ventured, “I think it’s time we head back, don’t you.”

A muffled sound and shifting grip on his jacket indicated Tim’s agreement.

“And Tim?”

“Yes, Graeme?”

“Let me know if you’re finding it hard to hang on.”

“Yes, Graeme.”

Graeme extricated himself from Tim’s grip and gave a small smirk. Tim let out the breath he’d been holding, the space between them clearing his head slightly.

Tim adjusted his trousers to accommodate himself more easily on the bike and didn’t miss the way Graeme’s eyes tracked down hungrily. 

He took a quick look up and down the alley, and seeing no-one, pulled Graeme down by his tie to kiss him. The contact lasted less than a second and Graeme was given no time to respond before Tim put his helmet on and jumped on the back of the bike.


	9. Back at the Office

The return journey was over in a flash. No sooner had they accelerated off into the night than Graeme was helping Tim off the bike, kissing him softly and suggesting they go inside.

They opened the door to their office hesitantly and saw Bill lounging on his beanbag, reading the latest edition of Dennis the Menace.

His girl was nowhere in sight, however the pleased cat-that-got-the-cream look on his face was enough indication of the success his evening had been.

He took one look at Tim and Graeme’s odd expressions and his own smug expression was gone, replaced by a more considerate, although frankly, more patronising look.

“Hard luck, mates,” he said, looking up into their controlled blank expressions. “Can’t work for everybody, I guess. I’m sure that there are some birds out there for you somewhere.” With that, he returned his face earnestly to his comic book.

Tim was having a difficult time concealing his glee and made a strangled grunt of acknowledgement to Bill. Graeme gently nudged Tim towards the bedroom door, goosing him as he followed him through it.

Bill looked up with a question in his eye as the door to their shared bedroom was shut decisively. He soon noticed the complete absence of sound. 

As giggles and arrhythmic thudding noises started emanating from the room, Bill got up to turn on the television. Realising it must still be broken; he put his headphones on, retrieved a new sherbet stick, and began sucking on it, completely content. 

After all, it was about time those two stopped dancing around each other. He’ll be perfectly happy sleeping in the office tonight.


End file.
